


And I shall call him...

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Hedgehogs, I Tried, Office Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, What Have I Done, Why is the Rum Gone?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: It was hardly the first time Phryne had borrowed some of Mac’s clothes. It would, however, be the first time Jack would get to see her wearing this more masculine garb, and she felt giddy with excitement and anticipation...





	And I shall call him...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scruggzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday fic for my gal Scruggzi. I know, your birthday was yesterday, but parts of this fic just refused to write themselves *insert angry shaking fist emoji*. Post season 3, established Phrack. I don’t do a lot of these, but I know you like the fluffy, established smut. So here goes. They are together, I don’t know how it happened, but they are. I tried to cram a lot of your favourite things into this fic, kiddo (the flamethrower was a bit much, though). Enjoy, I guess? 
> 
> Some of the things are inside jokes, so I do apologise if some of this stuff seems a bit random, because IT IS. PLEASE NOTE THE TAGS and don’t read this fic if any of this might offend you.
> 
> Thanks to Allison_Wonderland and Fire_Sign for being my co-conspirators in this, and for telling me ‘Yes, just go and write it’, ‘No, she won’t mind if it’s late’ and ‘JUST WRITE THE DAMN THING ALREADY.’ Tackle-hugging Geenee27 for the beta! 
> 
> Also, I love Dory and her Squishy.

 

As she stepped out into the cool autumn air, closing the heavy door of the building behind her, Phryne inhaled deeply. The fresh breeze filled her lungs. Even though she was more of a fan of summer, with its light, flowy skirts and detectives in bathing suits, there was something to be said for this particular change of season. The chill had only set in about a week or two ago, and some of the leaves on the trees were still green, whereas others had already turned various shades of yellow, orange, red, and brown.

It was a very warm, inspiring colour palette and she made a mental note to contact the Fleuri sisters for a new ensemble sometime this week. She’d only been back for three months or so and could do with a few new items. And really, did a woman ever need an excuse to purchase new dresses?

As for her current ensemble, it was a bit unusual, to say the least. Then again, she had worn pretty much everything and nothing in her life, and it was hardly the first time she’d borrowed some of Mac’s clothes. It would, however, be the first time Jack would get to see her, wearing this more masculine garb, and she felt giddy with excitement and anticipation.

The sun was very bright this time of year, and she squinted, resenting the fact that she hadn’t brought a pair of sunglasses. To be fair, when she’d left Wardlow last night for an evening of utter debauchery with Mac - which had involved a lot of dancing and even more drinks - she had not anticipated for the night to end the way it had. She couldn't remember all the details, exactly, but somehow she’d ended up with drinks spilled all over her exquisite dress. She vaguely recalled Mac telling her about the first time she’d ever spotted a hedgehog - or maybe it was the other way round? - as the cab drove them to Mac’s apartment building. She wasn't sure. Her memory was very foggy. Had there been rum? Cava?

When she’d awoken that morning in Mac’s bed, dressed in a pair of Mac’s sensible pyjamas, she’d been very confused at first. When Elizabeth - clearly in agony - had told her she was _never_ going out with her _ever_ again, Phryne surmised the evening must have been a success. It was also rather fortunate that her best friend kept an impressive stock of barely-legal painkillers at her apartment.

 _Unfortunately_ , her dress was ruined and she’d been left with no alternative but to borrow some of Mac’s trousers, braces, a shirt and a jacket (after said Doctor had threatened her into putting on some clothes). She’d added a silk cravat, because well, she was a fashionable woman, after all. The trousers were a bit short, but she was wearing her heels with them and quite liked the look. The extra height also did wonders for the shape of her arse, something she was sure Jack of all people would know how to appreciate.

She really had no good excuse, not ulterior motive, to go and see Jack at the station, other than that she _really_ wanted to see him. Going out, dancing and drinking with Mac, had been delightful but she realised she’d missed him.

She hadn't _pined_ for him during the five days, seven hours and 33 minutes she had not seen him. He had been busy, working on a case as she'd gone about her own business, and most importantly: Phryne Fisher did not pine. She’d simply missed his presence. Not just in her bed, but in the small things, mostly. The way he would tilt his head with that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’. The way he would turn eating into a sensual activity, solely by enjoying his food so much. The way he pronounced her name… Mac could certainly hold her own but banter with Jack was just… different. It was very stimulating, exhilarating, challenging and these days it often lead to extracurricular activities in her boudoir. Or at his cottage. Her kitchen. His gardening shed...

She was not wearing a camisole or brassiere underneath Mac’s shirt and the starched, slightly rough fabric created a delicious friction against her breasts. She knew that, were she to remove her jacket, her pert, rosy nipples would be clearly visible underneath the white cotton; her breasts pushed together slightly by the pressure of the braces. She smiled to herself and imagined the look on Jack’s face, if and when he were to discover this little _titbit_. She supposed his eyes would widen visibly, before they’d darken and stir something deep inside of her. Perhaps a small, amused twitch of his full lips? Maybe one of those lopsided smiles she liked to think he reserved just for her?

As she hailed a cab and climbed into the back seat, giving directions to the driver, she suddenly couldn’t get to City South fast enough.

 

***

 

Jack heard her heels, then smelled her perfume - _Arpège_ by Lanvin - before she actually barged into the interrogation room with her usual charm and flair. He had just finished interrogating a suspect in his case and it had all led to naught. The supposed culprit had walked out of the station a free man, and Jack was now faced with the immense task of going over all of the evidence, again.

He closed the file on the table in front of him, before turning to address Phryne. However, when he stood to face her, he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth suddenly dry.

Phryne was leaning against the closed door of the interrogation room, dressed in what could only be described as… _was that Doctor MacMillan’s jacket?_

He hadn’t seen Phryne in five days, but it felt like five weeks. How had he managed all those months without her? Then again, that was before he had known the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin, the intensity of her touch and the almost feral little noises she made when she came.

Her visit was a surprise, and now she was standing there, leaning casually, dressed like _that_. He was beginning to question his own sanity, because he was suddenly convinced that she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now. He’d seen Doctor Macmillan dressed in masculine attire, and even though it had thrown him at first, nowadays he could no longer imagine the red-haired woman wearing anything else.

But seeing _Phryne_ dressed… well, as a man… it was strangely arousing. Jack wasn't sure what to make of it.

“Hello Jack!” she greeted him with bright eyes and a smile on her face.

“Miss Fisher. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he rumbled, closing the distance between them, unable to ignore her pull. She was a sultry siren, and he was the deep blue sea, enveloping her in his embrace.

“Oh, believe me when I say that the pleasure is all mine, Inspector,” Phryne quipped cheekily, and she pressed a quick kiss against his lips. Had he always smelled this good? He must have done, but maybe the memory of his scent had faded during their days apart? If so, in future she would not allow for them to be separated for more than a day. Maybe two.

Not too long ago, such thoughts would have terrified her. But not anymore. This was Jack. And Jack meant safety. Security. Respect. Mutual understanding.

Love.

She briefly wondered if monogamy was contagious.

“This is an interesting outfit,” he said, his fingers brushing her throat. He continued to be mesmerized by the contrast between their skin tones; hers a soft ivory, his a harsh gold. Her eyes fluttered shut as his deep voice stroked across her skin. “House of Fleuri? Or should I contact the good Doctor to inform her of theft?,” he teased, pulling on her cravat, causing it to loosen and hang around her porcelain neck.

He hadn’t meant to touch her, had had no intention of undressing her in the middle of the day, and at his place of work of all places. But gods, he hadn't wanted a woman as much since… well, since Phryne. And the way she was dressed...

She opened her eyes. “It’s merely a… sartorial splurge, Jack,” she purred, trailing a single fingernail down his cheek, encountering a very slight stubble that made her breath hitch. “Do you like it?”

“I do. Very much,” he rasped.

“Would you like me to wear it more often?” she inquired as she fidgeted with his tie, a familiar touch.

“I think I’d prefer it if you were wearing a lot less right now, Miss Fisher,” he grunted, his voice a hoarse whisper as he closed the distance between them.

He kissed her with a fierceness and a passion that took her breath away, quite literally, as she gasped against his lips. He almost impatiently pushed his tongue into her mouth, and she moaned at the contact. It aroused her greatly to know he'd evidently missed her as much as she'd missed him, if not more so. By the time he tore his lips away from hers he was breathing heavily. He’d pushed her jacket and the braces down and off, and was staring intently at her breasts.

Her chest was heaving under his gaze, and her breasts ached with the need to be touched.

His eyes darkened exactly as she’d imagined they would, before he buried his face in her hair, one of his large hands resting heavily on her hip.

“You’re not wearing anything under this shirt, are you?,” he growled against the slope of her neck, roughly palming her breast through the cotton.

“Not a stitch,” she panted.

Jack groaned. “You still haven’t told me why you are wearing this get-up, Miss Fisher. Or why you're here at all.”

“You want a confession, Jack Robinson?”

“I do.”

“You do realise you’re going to have to work for it, don’t you?,” she challenged him, chin raised in defiance.

“I did not expect anything less, Miss Fisher.”

 

***

 

Phryne realised her mistake as soon as Jack moved his hand between her thighs. She did not think of herself as weak, or easily led, but Jack Robinson’s fingers were a marvel and she should have thought of this before she'd challenged him. She knew she was no push-over, but really, the man gave as good as he got.

He had her backed up against the door - it was unlocked, but she figured it wouldn’t be in her best interest to notify him of this fact just yet. Her shirt had been pushed off of one shoulder (and said shoulder was now adorned with a rather impressive hickey she’d have to cover up), her small breast was exposed, and her trousers were around her ankles. For a second, she thought of Mac, and how she would be absolutely mortified to know where her clothes had been.

All thought fled from her mind, however, when Jack started rubbing her frantically through her silk, damp knickers, then left her hanging right at the precipice.

She groaned and her head fell back against the door with a soft ‘thud’.

“Anything you wish to confess, Miss Fisher?,” he asked innocently.

“Yes. I think you’re a smug bastard, Jack Robinson, and you-- oh _fuck_ , yes!,” she cried out when he took a puckered nipple into his mouth and bit it, wordlessly reminding her to keep it down with Collins right down the hall.

Then again, he figured the two of them weren’t fooling anyone any more at this point. Mrs. Collins still worked for Phryne, and he knew they hadn't exactly been subtle that one late afternoon in her parlour… He hoped Dot had been able to repair that antique Chinese vase.

“Anything else?,” he hummed against her breast, fingers teasing the edge of her pant leg.

“Well, you might want to consider Nigel, Inspector,” she panted.

Jack froze. “Who’s Nigel?”

“You know. My penis.”

“Your _what_?” Her breast popped out of his mouth as he let out an incredulous laugh, and it was a deliciously carefree sound.

“You wanted a confession, didn’t you, Inspector?”

“I did,” Jack admitted, but he looked terribly puzzled, even though his blown pupils belied his arousal. “But I’m not quite sure I’m following, Phryne.”

“I figured, what with the way I’m dressed, I should be allowed to sit wide-legged, spit on the streets and own a masculine appendage that I can name any way I please,” she informed him casually, as if she were discussing the weather instead of genitalia.

Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

“Isn’t that what men do, Jack? _Coming up_ with names for their privates?,” she asked. She gently nudged his half-hard arousal with her thigh.

Her double entendre wasn’t lost on him and he grinned.

“I honestly couldn't say, Miss Fisher. But _Nigel_?”

“It’s wonderfully whimsical. I like it. I may keep him.” She stroked his cheek in reverence, hoping he’d caught onto her actual meaning.

Judging by his gentle kiss, he had.

“And what, pray tell, will you do with Nigel, once you get him?,” He rested his forehead against hers. The gesture felt particularly intimate and she wrapped her arms around his neck in response.

“Whatever you want me to, Inspector,” she promised him, and she almost missed his soft, but sharp intake of breath. His hands on her hips tightened and she noticed how he hardened rapidly against her thigh.

“Jack…?,” Her voice was filled with wonder and surprise.

He pulled his head back, and when she looked into his eyes she could see a jumble of emotions; fear, curiosity and arousal were swimming in those deep pools of blue.

Phryne cupped his cheek in her small hand, and he covered her hand with his own. “Does the idea of me… penetrating you… does that appeal to you?” She was choosing her words carefully, not wanting to offend him as she lovingly stroked his hair.

There was a brief spark that ignited in his eyes, before it disappeared and turned into a smouldering fire.

He swallowed.

_Oh, Jack._

Her mysterious dark horse.

“I think we should discuss this at a later time, Miss Fisher,” he whispered.

He was not confessing, but neither was he denying. He was, however, suitably distracting her by pushing his fingers through her damp curls and between the wet folds of her sex.

“Alright, Jack, but we _are_ going to discuss this… later, _mmm_ … when-- oh _yes_ Jack, right there…”

“Yes. Later,” he grunted his agreement, neither willing nor capable of speaking in full sentences any more.

 

***

 

Dinner that evening was a comparatively tame affair. Phryne had changed into a demure, forest green silk dress, that clung faithfully to her modest curves. Jack had arrived promptly at six, and they’d shared a lovely meal, during which Phryne had enlightened Jack about the events of the night before. He’d given her one of _those_ smiles, told her to be careful - at which she’d huffed - and made her promise to check on his coroner the next day.

As they moved into the parlour, their conversation was interspersed with casual touches until there were no more words. Merely quiet sighs and pleased moans, until Phryne voiced the desire to go upstairs.

Once in the sanctity of the intimately lit boudoir, they started disrobing with an ease and comfort of long time lovers, until Phynre moved into the en suite to take care of family planning. Discarding his trousers, Jack folded them over a chair and removed his socks. Anticipation building, he sat on the edge of the luxurious bed, dressed in only his smalls.

He felt slightly nervous. Phryne had yet to bring up the conversation they’d had earlier that day, but he figured it wouldn’t be long before her curiosity would get the better of her.

Jack knew he wasn’t a homosexual, had no desire to be with another man, but did not judge those who did. He’d always felt confident with his own sexuality, until this afternoon, when Phryne had stepped into the station, dressed like a man. Yes, she was a very sensual woman, who’d been wearing masculine attire, but the combination had caught him completely off-guard. It had made him question his own sexuality for a second.

Then again, Phryne could probably put on a burlap sack and he’d still find her irresistible, _because_ it was _Phryne_ who was wearing it.

Still… the idea of her having a penis… It didn’t arouse him to imagine her with male genitalia, but the possibility of penetration intrigued him. He didn’t know where this interest had come from. Perhaps this curiosity had always been there, suppressed by society and propriety. Maybe now he finally felt safe, being with this remarkable woman? Safe enough to admit his honest, deepest desires.

They’d discussed something similar last month, when one night he’d slipped out of her at one point and had, quite by accident, nudged her arsehole with his wet cock. She’d told him, in no uncertain terms and with very clear body language, that she would not be adverse to him taking her this way, but he’d refrained.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to please her in every way possible… but he hadn't felt ready at the time.

The bathroom door opened, and Phryne emerged, pulling him from his reverie. She was wearing her silver robe with the low back, and the delicate fabric shimmered in the soft light as she approached him. He suspected she was actually wearing very little else, and his mouth watered as he tried to come up with a multitude of ways to get her naked as quickly as possible.

When she came to stand in front of him, she paused, raking her hands through his hair as his came to rest loosely on her hips. He pressed a soft kiss to her abdomen through the rustling fabric of her robe.

“What’s wrong, Jack? And don’t _lie_ to me, I _know_ that furrow in your brow. We have somewhat of a history together.”

He raised his head, and she cradled his face in her hands. The look in his eyes bespoke his insecurities, but his hands stroked her derrière with a confidence that took her breath away.

“Is this about earlier?,” she asked, sitting down next to him, holding his hand.

“Yes. I don’t -- I don’t know what this means, Phryne,” he admitted, visibly troubled.

“The idea of someone penetrating you?”

The only thing that gave away his discomfort at her use of such blunt - but accurate - terminology was the slight twitch of his eyes. He nodded, then hung his head.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with indulging in the sensual pleasures of life, Jack. You know that,” she said, her voice soothing.

“I know. It’s just…,” he stammered.

She cupped his cheek and made him turn to face her. “Listen to me, Jack Robinson. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are a good man, the best I know, and this won’t make me think any less of you.”

Before he had a chance to contradict her, she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He slumped against her in relief.

_I love you._

“Just tell me whenever you start to feel uncomfortable, and we’ll stop, immediately,” she whispered against his lips.

_You’re safe here._

She moved to the other side of the bed and retrieved a small wooden chest from underneath it. She opened it and took something from it, then placed the box on the floor. When she sat down beside him again, she was holding a vulcanized rubber, phallic-shaped, skin-tone… Well, it was a rather small penis. In her other hand she was holding a bottle with a transparent liquid.

Despite himself, his curiosity was piqued. Where had she bought this particular… device? He’d never seen one made of rubber before. Did a lot of people - women in particular - own one of these? Had she used this… on herself? The mere thought stirred something in his groin.

He wondered what else she had stored away in that chest.

“So this is…,” he started, voice husky.

“... a dildo?,” she supplied.

“I thought you were going to say ‘Nigel’,” he grinned, trying to ease the sudden tension he felt in his body. He wasn't sure if he was aroused by the prospect, or if this was his fight or flight response kicking in.

“You may call it whatever you like, Jack,” she reassured him.

“I’d prefer it if we could speak about… _it_ , as little as possible, to be honest.”

She nodded.

“Do you want to touch it?”

He stared at the foreign, yet familiar object in her proffered hand, then hesitated visibly.

Phryne placed the dildo and the bottle on the nightstand. She gently pushed at his bare, muscular chest until he lay back against the covers in the center of the bed. She took a moment to appreciate the way his muscles rippled and flexed, then straddled his thighs. Her robe fluttered open to reveal the dark mound at the apex of her thighs. Jack groaned, his hands clenched on her buttocks, and she gave him a sultry but sweet smile.

“It’s okay to feel a little apprehensive, Jack. It’s a novel experience, and new things can be a bit daunting. But we _do_ need to talk about what you’d like. If you still want to go ahead with this, that is?,” she inquired as she stroked his chest, eyes darkening when she noticed his nipples puckered under her ministrations.

He swallowed, then nodded slowly.

“What _do_ you want, darling man?”

“I didn’t know there were options,” he confessed, voice strained. As far as Jack was concerned, there was only one way this could go.

“Of course there are, Jack. There’s _always_ a choice. You could… do it yourself, if you like.” She gently palmed his half-hard length through his smalls, and he moaned appreciatively.

Jack understood what she was offering him. By ‘doing it himself’, he would be in control of his own pleasure.

Something occurred to him. “But -- what would you do?,” he rasped as Phryne started massaging his cock. He was always considering her pleasure, first and foremost. Taking and not giving anything in return just seemed wrong. Phryne had told him she would take pleasure in pleasing him - something he recognised, as he loved to lavish her with his tongue until she could no longer bear it - but he still wanted to ensure she felt good, too.

“I’m sure I could find a way to entertain myself,” she smouldered, then leaned down to take his bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’d want to watch… while I -- ?,” Jack hadn’t quite gotten over the mortification of watching her as she watched him touch himself just yet. But he had to admit, that whole experience had been very… eye-opening.

“ _Mmm_ , yes, Jack. I’m sure you’d be wonderful.”

“What is the other option?,” he rumbled.

“I could do it for you,” she offered quietly, and she seemed almost bashful as she suggested it. She sat up, her dainty hands on his chest. “Would you like that?”

Jack knew the answer to that question. He trusted Phryne implicitly, both in the boudoir and outside in the harsh world, where they fought crime together. He knew he had no desire to be with a man, but recognised this as yet another way in which he could be close to her. He knew she would not break his trust, would treat it with the utmost respect. He liked being in control of a situation - as did she - so giving that up… somehow, with Phryne, it almost felt easy.

He trusted and loved her more than words could say.

And so he nodded, once.

“Good boy,” she purred. “And if it becomes too much at any point, just say the word and I’ll stop. Promise me, Jack?”

“I promise.”

“Now, you have another choice to make; would you like to be on your back for this, or on your hands and knees?”

Despite what they were about to do, Jack blushed at her blatant mention of sexual positions.

“I think… I’d like to see.”

Her eyes widened, and then she was kissing him desperately, almost savagely. Her robe created a lovely friction between their hot bodies, and Jack groaned into her mouth. Phryne ground down on his length, and he could have sworn he saw stars, and possibly the entire universe.

“Gods, Jack Robinson… you have no idea how hot that makes me,” she panted against his mouth when they parted. She undulated her hips one final time before she moved down his legs, denying him the opportunity to find out how hot, exactly.

He pouted, but released a breath when she loosened the drawstring of his smalls. She carefully moved the fabric over his erection, and he lifted his hips to assist her in taking off his underwear.

Even though he’d shared a bed with Phryne almost every night since her return, his nakedness suddenly made him feel vulnerable.

Phryne looked at Jack with admiration. He really was remarkable, her Inspector. His cock was already half-hard, but she had ambitions beyond that.

“Now Jack, I need you to bend and pull your legs up for me.”

Jack did as he was asked, having no experience with this whatsoever, trusting that she would make him feel good. He leaned back against the pillows, presented her with his cock and arse, and felt quite exposed.

“Good. Hold them there, if you can.”

She grabbed the bottle of what he now realised was a scented oil, and he panicked. Should he have showered beforehand? Should he have… well, _cleaned_ himself?

His breath escaped him all at once when he felt her hands on his buttocks and thighs. The oil was colder than her palms, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation as she massaged the substance into his skin. Jack forgot all about wanting to watch her as she touched him. He closed his eyes when he felt her slender finger, probing him, rubbing the lubricant on his arse. He became nothing but living sensation when she started pushing in, and it was… uncomfortable.

“Jack, darling, you’re going to have to relax a little bit, or this is going to be rather difficult.”

“I don’t -- ,” he ground out.

“Just breathe, Jack.” She nuzzled his abdomen and his cock twitched.

As he inhaled deeply and breathed out, Phryne could feel his sphincter muscles relaxing, and she pushed her finger in.

It made a world of difference to Jack. It wasn’t a good feeling, but neither was it bad. It was… new, and he felt surprisingly calm… until she started moving her finger. Now this, _this_ was an entirely foreign sensation, but once she managed to work her finger inside, he felt his muscles unclenching to accommodate her digit. His head fell back against the headboard when she languidly started stroking his cock with her other hand. He sighed with need.

Releasing his length briefly, Phryne applied a little more oil to her hand. When she withdrew her one finger almost entirely, she pushed a second back in alongside the first, and Jack moaned deep and low. The sound was absolutely filthy, and her cunt throbbed.

Jack was in both heaven and hell, panting and sweating profusely. His eyes were still shut, but they fluttered open every now and again. He could see Phryne, focused on the task at hand, her fingers wrapped around his cock as the other hand --

But _oh_! Then she hit a spot with her fingers he hadn’t known was there at all, and suddenly he could feel a tingle shooting down his spine. It moved back up again and went straight to his cock. The sudden rush hardened it even further.

“Phryne…,” he begged, even though he had no idea what was happening to him, or what he was asking for. She pushed against it again, and again, thrusting her fingers, and he growled with pleasure. How could she know of this spot inside of him, when he had not even known it existed? His voice was hoarse with desire, and he was out of breath. It was as though Phryne had switched on a light inside of him, and suddenly it illuminated a room he hadn’t realised was there. All he knew was that he needed more, needed her, right now.

“Yes, Jack, I’m here.”

Her voice sounded distant, as if she wasn’t really there at all. Before he could panic or realised what was going on, he could feel her fingers leaving his body, and he felt strangely bereft. In the next breath, they were replaced by a somewhat cold, blunt object that felt a lot larger than it had looked just now. He tensed involuntarily and whimpered, both trying to get away and wanting that thing inside of him.

“Sssh, Jack. Relax.”

_I’ve got you.  
_

Phryne added a few more drops of oil and watched in awe as she carefully slid the dildo inside of Jack's arse. She could feel her inner muscles flutter as she imagined his cock, sliding into her. Once she got the head in, she stopped when he swore. On any other day, she was certain he would have turned the sky as blue as his eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned for his well-being. She noted his breathing was ragged. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he was nodding fervently.

“Do you want more?”

“Please,” he panted.

Ever so slowly, she worked the dildo upwards carefully, then gently pulled it back until only the head remained lodged inside of his body. Jack hissed, but beads of precum were beginning to form on his cockhead. His arms were trembling with the effort of holding his legs up, and his cock curved towards his stomach.

She pulled the phallus out of his arse, almost, then stilled so he could breathe. Not that it mattered, because Jack didn’t think he could concentrate on the sensations she was evoking _and_ his breathing at the same time. When Phryne pushed the dildo back in, she did so with a little more force and Jack could feel the difference immediately, as it pressed firmly against that elusive area that made him want more, harder, faster.

Repeating the motions, Phryne was now thrusting the dildo into Jack’s arse, and he was moaning and thrashing. She had never seen him like this - completely and entirely surrendering himself to his own pleasure - and she knew she was leaving a wet spot on the covers.

Jack’s eyes flew open and he let out an anguished groan when she took the head of his aching cock between her lips and started sucking him off in tandem with her thrusts. The dual sensation of penetration was almost too much, and his fingers were digging into his own thighs.

She was licking, teasing, sucking and all the while she was hitting that spot deep inside. He was hot, and wet, and he could feel himself climbing.

When she took him into her mouth in one go, his hand was suddenly on her head, pulling her away.

“Do you want me to stop?,” she asked breathlessly, worry written all over her face as she released his cock, a trail of saliva hanging from her naked mouth.

Jack felt as though he was about to spontaneously combust.

“Gods, _yes_ … No! No, don’t stop, _please_ ,” he sobbed, not sure at what point he’d started crying, unsure of what he wanted. No, _needed_. 

And then she was moving it so deep inside of him, and he wanted her to stop but he never wanted her to stop, and _oh God,_ it felt so good he was beside himself. She took his cock into her hot, clever mouth again, and he wished this could go on forever and ever. But when she let him bump against the back of her throat and _swallowed_ , he lost it.

“Jesus, Phryne... Oh, _fuck_!,” he roared, as his orgasm tore through him with an unexpected force that nearly split him in half from the inside out. He cried out and his body tensed against the onslaught that threatened to consume him whole. He spilled himself into her waiting mouth, and she drank him down until he was utterly, and completely spent.

 

***

 

When Jack came to, he was feeling both exhausted and relaxed at the same time. He opened his eyes when Phryne returned from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth to clean him up. He reached for her with limbs that felt like weakened elastic.

She smiled, then dropped her robe. Usually, the sight of her naked form would spur him into action, but right now, even his mind wasn’t willing.

“Go to sleep, Jack,” she murmured against his damp skin as she moved them until they were both under the covers.

“But what about -- ?” _You_. What about her pleasure?

“It’s alright, Jack. You can rest assured that I will wake you, later,” she told him, as she lay down on her side and snuggled into him. Her back was against his chest, his hand was on her hip. His spent cock against her buttocks made her sigh in utter contentment.

He chuckled softly.

“Later,” he grunted in agreement, sleep slowly overtaking him as his breath tickled her ear.

“I adore you, Jack.”

“I love you, Phryne Fisher.”

“Sleep, darling man.”

And so he did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The first rubber dildos have been traced back to around 1850 and they started appearing in movies during the 1930s and 1940s. They were not always considered safe because of the spring inside of the dildo, and the rubber could crack over time and the spring could cause cuts. Yeah. Ouch.
> 
> By 1889, the term ‘dildo’ was out of favour, according to a slang dictionary of the time, and the more popular term was ‘broom handle’, but that’s just ridiculous. This dictionary defines dildo with such beautiful specificity that I’ve excerpted the whole thing here:  
> ‘An instrument made of various soft, pliable substances, and resembling the male pudendum, used by women who, possessing strong amatory passions and forced to live celibate lives, are afraid of pregnancy following natural copulation.’
> 
> Also, I’m never writing buttsmut ever again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sarge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621895) by [Allison_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Wonderland/pseuds/Allison_Wonderland)




End file.
